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THE LADY IN BLUE 


A SITKA ROMANCE 


' by 

Jno. W. Arctander, LL.D. 

AUTHOR OF 

“THE APOSTLE OF ALASKA” 
“GUILTY?” 

ETC. 


yi / 

ILLUSTRATIONS BY COURTESY OF 
MR. W. H. CASE 
„ JUNEAU, ALASKA 



Lowman & Hanford Co. 
Seattle 


Copyright igii, by Jno. W. Arctander 



^ Cl, A 384581 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


I. 

I HAD just returned from Alaska, “The 
Great Country”, as it was christened 'by 
Charles Sumner in the days when Secre- 
tary Seward forced it upon an unwilling 
American Congress at a cost of more than 
seven millions of money. 

By the merest accident I had happened to 
spend my summer vacation in this “Wonder- 
land of America”, and I was brimful of my 
discoveries in our own “Land of the Midnight 
Sun”. They were more strongly impressed 
on my mind, perhaps, because of my former 
total ignorance of that country. 

In fact, I had become so captivated with the 
scenic beauty and grandeur of Alaska, that I 
could not speak of anything else. I could not 


[ 7 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


think of anything else. To tell the truth, I 
dreamed of nothing else. 

When my old friend and college chum, Dick 
Wall, a few days after my return, invited me to 
a dinner “en famille” with him and his charm- 
ing wife, it therefore goes without saying, that 
Alaska became the all-absorbing topic of con- 
versation at the table. 

With the brush of an enthusiast I painted 
to my interested listeners the charming inland 
waterways, winding for nearly a thousand 
miles through the mazes of the eleven hundred 
forest-clad and flower-strewn islands of the 
Alexander Archipelago; the innumerable, deep 
fiords, sounds and inlets, in whose green glit- 
tering waters the giant-like yellow cedars and 
the graceful Sitka spruce, growing up the 
mountain side, recognized their mirrored 
shadows; the smiling blue sky, toward whose 
embrace the snow-capped mountain -crags 
seemed longingly to stretch their dizzy heights ; 
the hundreds of glaciers, living rivers and seas 
[ 8 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


of ice, from whose glittering towers and spires 
of clearest crystal the glorious sunshine rever- 
berated in a thousand shifting colors and 
shades, from the deepest and darkest indigo to 
the most snowy and silvery white. 

Nor did I forget to describe the sunsets with 
their remarkable mixture -of colors, a wealth 
of yellow and red, burning with the heat of 
glowing fire, and then as a contrast, making 
the richness all the stronger, — only a little way 
off, — the cold gray-blue shadows, which seemed 
to give one premonitions of a snow-storm. 

“Yes,"’ interrupted Mrs. Wall, ”now I under- 
stand you. This gets nearer to my idea of 
Alaska. I have somewhere read of it as 'The 
Great National Refrigerator’. We must be 
thankful, I suppose, that you did not freeze to 
death on your pleasure trip.” 

"Allow me, my dear Mrs. Wall, to correct 
this very common, but therefore no less errone- 
ous notion. Southeastern Alaska, where I 
have traveled this summer, has the most deli- 


[ 9 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


cious, the most equable climate of any country 
in the world. There is less than twenty de- 
grees difference between its mean temperature 
in summer and in winter. While in the sum- 
mer the fresh breezes from the sea interdict 
the sweltering heat we suffer from here, the 
climate in Southeastern Alaska in the winter 
can stand a favorable comparison with that of 
the District of Columbia, or of the State of 
Kentucky. This is due to the benign influence 
of the Japanese current, or ‘Kuro Shiwo’, 
which, coming from the equator, skirts the 
whole Southeastern Alaskan coast and sends 
its warm waters in between the islands of the 
archipelago. Do you know, that at Sitka, in 
the northern part of Southeastern Alaska, the 
thermometer has not crawled down to zero 
more than four times in the last 35 years?’' 

‘"Sitka!” exclaimed Dick. “Have you been 
there?” 

“Certainly! That is where the Russian 
bishop was located, who is said to have told 


[ 10 ] 


Baranoff Castle at Sitka in 1890 














THE LADY IN BLUE 


our Mr. Seward, that he thanked God every 
day of his life for having sent him to ^such a 
nice, mild climate’.’’ 

''Is there in Sitka a building called Baranoff 
Castle?” persisted Dick, with what I thought 
a strange, mysterious look in his eyes. 

"There is no Baranoff Castle in Sitka now, 
but there was in times gone by. It was most 
mysteriously destroyed by fire in 1894, shortly 
after our government had spent some $10,000 
in restoring it to its former splendor. During 
the Russian rule it was the palace of the 
Alaskan governors, and many a wild revel has 
the old castle witnessed in olden times, if half 
of what people tell is true.” 

"Then there may be some truth after all in 
the old yellow manuscript of your father’s, 
Marjorie,” said Dick, addressing his wife. "I 
have always felt inclined to think, that it was 
mereh^ a youthful product of the imagination 
of the old clergyman. But perhaps there is 
some foundation of fact for the weird story 
after all.” 


n 2 ] 


THE LADV IN B LU ^ 


“You speak in riddles to me/' I said. 

“I suppose so. I will explain myself. Mar- 
jorie’s father was in his younger days, long 
before he met my little wife’s mother, an army 
chaplain. In that capacity he accompanied 
three companies of the Ninth Infantry regi- 
ment, under the command of General Jefferson 
C. Davis, who in 1867 was sent by our govern- 
ment to Sitka in order to receive from the 
Russians the possession of Alaska. Mr. Cramer 
was the first American minister who ever con- 
ducted divine services in Sitka, and was very 
proud of that fact. When he died, a couple 
of years ago, Marjorie found among his papers 
an old manuscript, yellow with age, containing 
a description of his experiences at Sitka. The 
old gentleman must have been as good a writer 
in his younger days as he was a preacher when 
I first met him, for his description of the sur- 
render by the Russians to General Rosseau, our 
commissioner, on the eighteenth day of Octo- 
ber, 1867, is most vivid. You can almost hear 


[ 13 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


the boom of the cannon from our gunboats and 
from the land batteries of the citadel, as the 
Russian flag, after some hitch in the proceed- 
ings, came down, and the stars and stripes were 
hoisted in its place. You can almost see the 
tear-filled eyes of the young and beautiful 
Princess Maksoutoflf, the second wife of the 
last Russian governor, who on that very night 
most gracefully presided at a banquet and ball 
given by the governor in honor of the Ameri- 
can officers. But what has always interested 
me most in the old manuscript is the 'ghost 
story’ connected with the old castle.” 

"A ghost story, and connected with Baranoff 
Castle?” I said. "You must loan me the manu- 
script, Dick. Anything connected with Bara- 
nofif Castle cannot fail to interest me deeply.” 

"I am afraid you could not decipher the old 
preacher’s hieroglyphics. At least I cannot. 
Marjorie is the only one who can successfully 
translate them. Suppose we prevail upon her 
to read the story to us? It is getting about 

[ 14 ] 


THE LADY IN B L U E 


late enough now to make us all in a mood for 
hearing a real ghost story/' 

''Nothing would please me more," I said, 
conscious that I probably had taken up too 
much of the time with my own narrative. 

"Are you sure you can stand a real ghost 
story upon a full stomach?" asked the hostess 
from the library, where she was searching in 
the pigeon-holes of her escritoire for her dead 
father’s manuscript. 

"Quite sure," I said. 

"Well, here goes for the chaplain’s manu- 
script," said Mrs. Wall, as, on returning to 
the dining room, she unfolded a roll of paper 
which certainly looked old and yellow enough 
to create in my mind a great curiosity as to 
its contents. 

After turning over some leaves Mrs. Wall 
said : 

"I will begin just where the ghost story 
begins. My father first mentions that the 
banquet and the excessive hospitality of the 


r 15 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


Russians, with their incessantly repeated ex- 
hortation: 'Petnatchit Copla’ or fifteen drops, 
which were not fifteen drops at all, but half a 
tumbler full of most ardent spirits, had made 
him sleepy, and that he felt anxious to retire 
for the night, as soon as the hostess should 
give the signal for repairing into the large 
dancing salon, which occupied one-half of the 
second story of the castle. I will now let my 
father tell the story in his own words.” 



[ 1 6 .1 


IL 


I T was nearly midnight, and as I did not 
dance, I had no desire to take further part 
in the revel, which to my notion had already 
assumed an altogether too noisy tone. 

The exquisite tact of our hostess had placed 
at my side at the banquet table the reverend 
Russian priest, or “pope’’, in charge of the 
Cathedral of St. Michael at Sitka, an educated 
and interesting elderly gentleman, with whom, 
during the repast, I had had a most congenial 
conversation in French. I confided my desire 
to him, and he immediately communicated with 
a chamberlain of the governor’s court, who 
called a servant and directed him to conduct 
me to my bedchamber. My friend the pope, 
with true Russian cordiality, insisted on accom- 
panying me. We together entered the chamber 
assigned to me, preceded by the servant, who 
placed a massive silver candelabra, containing 


[ 17 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


three burning wax tapers, on the mantel piece, 
and thereupon with many and profound bows 
retired. 

I remarked to the pope on the magnificent 
and evidently costly hangings and appoint- 
ments of the apartment. The high ceiling was 
lavishly decorated. Little Cupids and Sungods 
were playing hide and seek between delicate 
clouds. The walls were hung with magnificent 
silken tapestries, evidently a century or more 
old, and the work of great masters in an art, 
which at the present time seems to be lost. The 
furniture was costly, finely carved and up- 
holstered in satin and damask. Over between 
the windows, stood a large canopied bed, with 
silken hangings, now faded, but evidently once 
of a delicate blue shade. 

The pope, noticing my admiring glances, as 
they fell on the appointments of the room, 
remarked : 

“I see, little father, they have given you 
Princess Olga Feodorovna’s bedchamber. It 


[18 1 


The Cathedral of St. Michael at Sitka 


$ 








THE LADY IN BLUE 


is one of the finest among the guest chambers 
in the castle, and I very much appreciate the 
tact of Princess Maksoutoff in giving the best 
chamber to a gentleman of the cloth.” 

‘'But I see you are sleepy and need rest,” he 
continued, “so I will bid you good night. I 
wish you pleasant dreams, little father, and 
that you may not be disturbed by the ghosts. 
You have undoubtedly heard that the castle is 
haunted?” 

“No, I have not,” I said, “but I do not 
believe in ghosts, so that does not worry me. — 
What kind of ghosts do the superstitious peo- 
ple claim haunt the castle?” I added a little 
curiously. 

“I shall not tell you tonight, little father, 
especially as this is the eighteenth day of the 
month, the very night, when it is claimed, the 
ghost comes. If I describe it, as people, who 
say they know, claim it to be, the power of 
imagination of the little father might get the 
best of him. As it is, if anything should 
[20 ] 


THE LADY IN B L U E 


happen, the little father will know there is 
something in ghosts after all, and can tell me 
all about his experiences in the morning. I 
shall look for a visit from you as early as you 
please. I reside in the green-roofed dwelling 
on the Governor’s Walk, not far from the 
Cathedral. Any child will show you the pope’s 
house. The popadia will be most pleased to 
meet the American little father, and now, good 
night, little father, pleasant dreams and no 
spirit visitors, if you please !” 

With this remark the priest bowed himself 
out of my room. 

My first thought was to lock the door but 
on attempting to do so, I found that there was 
no key in the lock and no bolt on the door. 

This apparent lack of privacy on the part of 
the Russians was certainly most aggravating, 
but considering that I was among a half bar- 
baric people in what seemed to be a wild 
country, I made up my mind, that I could stand 
it, if they could. It only furnished the spooks 
[ 21 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


free play, if they should desire to make a call 
at the bedchamber of the old princess, that 
was all. 

Having commended myself to the care of 
the great Father, I arose to disrobe, but some- 
how felt so drowsy, and the silk coverlets 
looked so inviting, that I could not resist the 
temptation to lie down on the bed, — just for 
a moment, before undressing. 

I sank down in the most extravagant downy 
bed it had ever been my good fortune to enjoy 
and before I was aware of it, I had fallen 
asleep. 

How long I slept, I do not know; but the 
first sensation of which I was aware, was of 
someone tapping me lightly on the shoulder. I 
raised myself quickly on the elbow, and there : — 
Was it a vision, or what was it? 

By the side of my bed, not farther away than 
I could have touched her with my outstretched 
hand, stood a beautiful woman. She was 
dressed in a pale blue silk dress with a satin 


[ 22 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


sash of the same color, tied around a tapering 
narrow waist and falling in great lengths down 
over the unnaturally large hips, almost to the 
bottom of the wide expansive crinoline skirt. 

The extremely decollete corsage exhibited a 
lovely neck, and snowy finely chiseled shoul- 
ders, while the arms were covered with very 
full bishop sleeves, with narrow bands at the 
wrists. 

On her black hair, so black that it seemed 
almost blue, and which hung down in cork- 
screw curls on both sides of a most beautiful 
face, was resting a silver band in the shape of 
a tiara or crown. Her black eyes were so 
large and piercing, that they seemed almost 
like two burning coals, but as she closed them 
for a moment, as with a painful movement, 
there came over the face an expression of 
despair, sorrow and suffering, so intense, as 
I have never seen depicted on human face, save 
in the wonderful painting of the Mater Dolo- 
rosa in the Royal Museum at Madrid. 


[23 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


In her left hand the lady in blue held a silver 
candlestick, in which was a burning wax can- 
dle. With the right she made several quick, 
imperious motions, as if pointing over her 
shoulder to the door of the room. 

She then turned. And with her right hand 
around the flame of the candle, as if sheltering 
it from the draft, the magnificent Juno-like 
form slowly glided over the polished floor to 
the door, which opened as in obedience to her 
silent command, and half closed again behind 
her. 

Although it seemed impossible for me to 
make the slightest move, while she was stand- 
ing near my bed, now — that she had disap- 
peared behind the door, — I felt an irresistible 
impulse take possession of me to follow her out 
in the hall, and, if possible, fathom the mystery. 

I jumped out of bed, and ran to the door as 
quickly as I could, for fear that she would 
disappear, without my knowing whither. 

Reaching the door I was surprised to find it 


[24 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


closed, but it readily responded to my eager 
grasp, and letting my eyes flash first in one 
direction and then in another, I felt my heart 
beat faster upon discovering the lady in blue 
gliding silently along the corridor in the direc- 
tion of the great salon, from which were wafted 
toward the place where I stood, the measures 
of a stately minuet;. She was still shading the 
flame of the candle with her hand. 

Then suddenly I lost sight of her and of the 
candle, which had been glittering like a distant 
star in the dark hallway. 

I hastened my steps and was soon rewarded. 
Only a short distance, and an open door showed 
a staircase leading upward. From six or seven 
steps up her candle threw just enough light to 
show the stairs. 

I ran up the steps, determined that she 
should not escape me. 

As I reached the landing, I observed her by 
the window on the opposite side of a large 
glass cupola, peering out into the dark night. 


[ 25 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


shading her eyes with her beautiful and trans- 
parent hand. 

Oh, the sadness and sorrow in that face ! 

I was about to speak, to comfort her, to 
remind her of the great Master, who always 
had a kind word or a tender look for a sorrow 
as deep and as seemingly inconsolable as hers, 
to ask her to turn to the cross for her comfort 
and her consolation, when I heard coming from 
down below, from out of the darkness of the 
night, in the deep basso tones of the Russian 
sentry stationed on the bastion in front of the 
castle, these words: “One o’clock and all is 
well.” 

As if these words of human voice had awak- 
ened the lady in blue from out of a trance, I 
observed a sudden tremor in the hand shading 
her eyes. 

An awful, unearthly cry of anguish re- 
sounded in my ears. 

The candlestick fell to the floor with a crash 
and all was darkness. 

[201 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


Determined to do what I could, to assist the 
sad-eyed, sorrowing lad}^ I crept cautiously 
.across the tiles over to the place, where I had 
seen her stand but a moment before, and groped 
around in the dark. My hands touched the 
panes of the window, against which she had 
leaned, but she had vanished with the flickering 
flame. 

I spoke, trying to make my voice as tender 
as possible, offering her comfort and help in 
her trouble, but there was no response — only 
my voice seemed rusty and unnatural. From 
the panes of the cupola my words of comfort 
came back, as if they had struck a stone wall, 
harsh and unfeeling. They sounded in my own 
ears like a hollow mockery. 

I have always had the impression, that even 
in the dark, I could perceive the presence of a 
human being. I now experienced the opposite, 
a feeling of utter solitude, of lonesomeness, — 
of being left utterly alone. 

I was satisfied that the apparition, whether 


[ 27 ] 


THE LADY IN- BLUE 


human or spirit, had gone out of my conscious 
existence. 

My next thought was how to get back to 
my room. Cautiously feeling my way in the 
utter darkness, I finally succeeded in locating 
the landing and after descending what seemed 
to me a great many steps, I found myself in 
the corridor leading to my chamber. 

They were now dancing a gay polka in the 
dancing hall, and its strains seemed to chase 
me in the opposite direction toward the door 
of my bed chamber, which I fortunately found 
standing open, the candles in the candelabra 
on the mantel still burning dimly. 



[28 1 


III. 


^FTER closing my door and on walking 
toward the bed, I caught myself looking 
over my shoulder. 

I was not so sure, as I was an hour ago, 
that there were no ghosts. 

The lady in blue seemed too real, too fiesh- 
and-blood-like, too human, to be a spirit, but 
still no human being could have disappeared 
in the twinkling of an eye, as she did, just as 
if she had sunk through the floor. 

No, I was not so sure of anything any more. 

I remembered what an old man once said, 
when we were speaking of a haunted house, and 
when I pooh-poohed the idea of spooks : ‘‘Well, 
young man,’’ he said, “before you are twice as 
old as you are now you will find out that there 
are many things between heaven and earth 
which you do not understand.” 

I disrobed and attempted to go to sleep, but 


[ 29 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


in vain, — I closed my eyes, — tried to shut out 
all memories of the lady in blue, but she haunted 
my every thought, and would not let me alone. 
Every few moments it seemed as if the door 
opened again and she approached the canopied 
bed. 

I opened my eyes, almost glad at the thought 
of seeing her again, determined upon finding- 
out her secret, — upon not letting her go until 
I had ascertained for sure, whether this beau- 
tiful creation was of flesh fleshly or a mes- 
senger from the spirit world — only to find that 
my imagination had again played me a trick. 

Sleep did not come to my troubled brow dur- 
ing any portion of the long vigils of that night. 

At daybreak I attired myself and found an 
exit from the castle. The sentry on the stair- 
way leading down from the rocky eminence on 
which the castle is built, nearly a hundred feet 
above the level of the streets, eyed me suspi- 
ciously, as I walked out into the gray of 'the 
dawn, but he evidently made up his mind, that 

[ 30 ] 


THE LADY IN B LU ^ 


he was simply up against the eccentricity of 
the “Boston men”, as the Russians and natives 
at Sitka call us Americans, for he did not chal- 
lenge me, but let me pass. 

Realizing that it was too early to call on the 
pope, I sauntered along the Governor’s Walk 
skirting the beach over toward the point and 
thence followed the footpath along the beautiful 
Indian river. 

There is perhaps no more beautiful spot in 
America, than Sitka. It seems as if the spirits 
of the sea, of the mountains and of the forest 
have conspired together to conquer man’s heart 
and tie it to this lovely spot with all the power 
of longing which the human soul possesses. 

But this exquisite beauty of nature had no 
attraction for me that morning. My heart was 
too much racked with doubt. 

What was the true solution of the riddle of 
last night? 

I felt that the pope could solve it. And as 
soon as I could do so without rudeness, I 


[ 31 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


knocked at the door of the long, green-roofed 
house on the '‘Governor’s Walk”. 

A pleasant looking lady, fat and forty, 
opened the door and upon my inquiry for the 
pope, ushered me into his study, where I only 
had to wait a few minutes. 



[ 32 ] 


IV. 


AH, little father, I am glad to see you under 
my lowly roof-tree. What can we offer 
you this morning? Tetnatchit Copla’ ? 
No? No fifteen drops? But a glass of tea of 
my popadia’S'Own brew? Ah, you do not know 
what you deny yourself! No one in all Sitka 
can brew a glass of tea like my little wife. You 
must not refuse. Sit down in this easy chair. 
I will bring in the Samovar, and the popadia 
will fetch the sugar and the lemons. Oh, do 
you think my popadia would have forgiven me, 
if I had allowed the American little father to 
go away without a glass of her superb tea? 
What did I say, one glass ? Nine or ten glasses, 
I mean!” 

Thus he continued to chatter. It was no use 
to try to make any objection, so I made up my 
mind to let him have his own way. 

As soon as the popadia had left the room. 


[ 33 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


and wh'ile we were still sipping our first glass 
of tea with sugar and lemon, the pope re- 
marked : 

‘'Ah, I perceive the little father has seen the 
ghost of the castle 

"And why, pray?” I asked. 

"Oh, I read it in the little father’s face. It 
is pale, as if the color of the ghost was reflected 
in it. There is disquietude in the little father’s 
eyes. The little father is not so sure any 
longer, that there are no ghosts.” 

"You are right.” 

"What kind of a ghost did the little father 
see?” 

"I saw a beautiful woman.” 

"Aha, the lady in blue!” 

"How do you know? — I did not say she was 
dressed in blue.” 

"The little father need not tell me. — Pale 
blue is the color in which the brides of Russia 
dress. How was her appearance? In the 
style and fashion of today?” 


[ 34 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


“No, that is what is bothering me. I would 
have taken my oath on the Bible, that the 
beautiful woman who stood before me, was a 
living, breathing creature, a master-piece in 
flesh and blood, was it not for the fact, that 
her style of dress, and even the mann-er of 
dressing the hair with cork screw curls down 
the side of the face” 

“Had she red roses in her hair ?” interrupted 
the pope. 

“Yes, I believe she had red roses fastened in 
the curls at each side of her head. It seems 
so to me now, when you speak of it, although 
I did not consciously notice it before. And 
then she had a silver band resting on her 
head.” 

“The silver crown of the Russian bride. 
Yes — yes — that is likely so.” 

“But what I intended to say was, that the 
style of her dress and the way of dressing her 
hair reminded me of a painting of my mother, 
when she was a young girl.” 


[ 35 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


'‘How long ago was that picture of the little 
father’s mother painted?” 

"Let me see. I am now twenty-four years 
old, and as I am her oldest boy, it must be at 
least twenty-seven years ago.” 

"That corresponds. — Twenty-seven years 

ago. 1840. Yes, quite likely the young 

lady was dressed as the little father’s mother 
was twenty-seven years ago. Quite likely ! 

Quite likely! Father Veniaminoff left here 

in 1844. Christmas day, 1844. That 

was the day he went away from us to take up 
the duties and responsibilities of Metropolitan 
at Moscow. Did the little father ever know 
Father Veniaminoff ? No. — No, of course not ! 
W ell, the little father should have known him. 
God bless his sacred memory a thousand times ! 
He was the greatest bishop in the orthodox 
church, and that is as much as the greatest in 
all churches. Ah, if the little father could 
have seen him ! — Six and a half feet tall, broad 
shouldered and muscular. A head taller than 


[ 36 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


all the people. Even the governor looked like 
a boy beside him. A regular athlete he was 
also, — handsome as a Sungod — and so clever. 
When he preached all the people listened with- 
out moving or stirring until he stopped. Oh, 
he was a great man. He was the first bishop 
at Sitka. It was he who ordained me deacon 
of our holy Mother Church thirty years ago.’’ 

“Yes, but father, what has this remarkably 
tall priest or bishop to do with the ghost — if 
it was a ghost?” 

“He has everything to do with it. It was 
his influence which conquered, when the brute 
force of the great governor failed. It was he 
who married the lady in blue to the prince. 
God forgive him for that.” 

“But, father, I have as yet told you nothing 
of what I witnessed in the castle last night.” 

“You need not do so, my little father. I 
know it all. She had a candle?” 

“Yes.” 

[ 37 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


^'She protected it with her hand from the 
draft?’’ 

“Yes.” 

“She ascended the steps to the cupola?” 

“Yes.” 

“She shaded her eyes and peered out into 
the night towards the South, where the one 
hundred and thirty forest-clad little isles of 
Sitka lie sleeping?” 

“Yes, she did.” 

“She dropped the candle, did she not, and 
shrieked and was gone?” 

“Just so! — But how can you know, father?” 

“You are not the only one who has seen the 
‘Lady in Blue of Baranoff Castle’, little father. 
That is the explanation. You did see a real 
ghost last night, as sure as there is a God in 
Israel.” 

“How can you prove it to me?” 

“Let me tell you the sad life story of the 
Princess Olga Feodorovna.” 

I shuddered. 


[ 38 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


Was that not the princess, whose bedcham- 
bei: the pope told me last night I was to occupy ? 

I commenced to see the beginning of the 
end now. 



[ 39 ] 


V. 


T he pope proceeded: 

“It was in 1840 the 'White Czar’ sent 
the lientenant commander in the Rus- 
sian navy, Count Adolphus Paulovitch Etholin, 
as Governor of all Alaska to Sitka. The Count 
had been here before as a midshipman and as 
a young lieutenant, but that was long ago. 

Now his hair had grayed, and his face had 
wrinkled in the service of the Czar, but he was 
still handsome enough to win the heart and 
hand of the excellent Einnish countess, who 
had the reputation of being the most beautiful 
as well as the best-hearted among the maids of 
honor at the St. Petersburg court. When he 
came to Sitka as the military governor of the 
Czar and as the director and manager of the 
great Russian American company as well, he 
brought with him his young and beautiful 
countess, fair as a summer day, and also 


[ 40 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


Princess Olga Feodorovna, an orphaned niece, 
wealthy and proud, and dark as the raven’s 
glossy wing, or as a starless night. 

Her acres were numberless — her slaves 
counted by the thousands — her palaces in the 
country and in the city magnificent as are few. 
In fact, she was counted one of the richest and 
most beautiful heiresses in the Czar’s domin- 
ions. It was said that so many of the noble- 
men at the court of the Czar had killed each 
other for her sake that our ‘White Father’ gave 
as an excuse for appointing Count Etholin to 
the governorship of Alaska, that he had to 
take his choice between exiling Princess Olga 
and losing the flower of his army. 

The young offlcers stationed at Sitka of 
course all fell in love with her, although those, 
who know, say, that she gave them neither 
cause nor encouragement. A look from her 
black eagle eyes, a word on the race track, a 
dance at a ball, would suffice to set the whole 


[ 41 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


mess against the favored recipient and cause 
duels by the score. 

Nevertheless she distributed her favors im- 
partially. As the sun she shone for all, and 
none could claim her for his own, until one 
day the blue eyes of Victor Gregorovitch 
Schupkin, a young nobleman of fine bearing 
and appearance and a midshipman in the Czar's 
navy, looked into her black eyes at a reception 
at the officers’ club. 

Feodor ovna ere long acknowledged to her 
old faithful nurse, Nataschenska Petrovna, 
who had followed her beloved mistress across 
the sea, that she had seen the only man whom 
she could ever love, and it did not take the 
young midshipman long to read in the dark 
eyes of the princess, that his ardent love for 
her was reciprocated. If he did become the 
object of the hatred and chicanery of the other 
officers, who, with the rest of the world, soon 
perceived that he was the favorite of the most 
beautiful lady at the governor’s court, what did 

[ 42 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


it matter, as long as he felt, that nothing could 
make him lose his place in Feodorovna’s heart? 

The countess, who lived only to make others 
happy, and who has left the most tender mem- 
ories at Sitka, as our Lady Bountiful, whose 
heart was always bleeding for those who suf- 
fered and were in need, seemed to favor the 
suit of Victor Gregorovitch, and the governor 
himself did not let any one understand, that 
he had any objections to the young man, until 
some time after Prince Ivan Sergovitch Pep- 
loff had appeared at Sitka. 

No one could make out what errand this 
old blaze roue had in Alaska. By his gambling 
and riotous living he had managed to run 
through three considerable fortunes, that of his 
father and of his mother, as well as of his wife. 
By his wild and dissolute life, and, if rumor 
spoke the truth, even by blows and corporeal 
maltreatment, he had driven his wife to de- 
spair, insanity and finally to death. 

[43 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


A Russian proverb says : “A woman is not 
a pea — you cannot crush her.” 

Prince Peploff believed in the proverb, but 
found to his astonishment and undoubtedly to 
his great joy, that in his individual case the 
proverb did not prove true, and that a woman 
could be so cruelly treated as to be crushed out 
of existence. I said it made him glad. The 
fact was that the old roue had seen Feodorovna 
at a court reception in St. Petersburg, and to 
see her was of course to fall in love with her. 
The old burned-out piece of charcoal, which 
he had had allotted him in place of a heart, was 
fanned into flame again. Perhaps his knowl- 
edge of her great wealth and extended posses- 
sions did not tend to cool the ardor of the aged 
admirer of the beautiful princess. 

The prince, upon his arrival at Sitka, assidu- 
ously let it be known that he and the governor 
had been great friends in the days of their 
youth, and that this friendship had driven him 
to Alaska after his wife’s death, partly to 

[44 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


drown his sorrow, and partly to try to forget, 
in going over with his old friend, the governor, 
the escapades of their youth, the fact that old 
age was creeping upon him. 

His attentions to Feodorovna soon became 
very assiduous, and it is hardly necessary to 
say, that they were most distasteful to her. 

In paying his court the aged suitor seemed 
to have at least the passive support of his old 
friend the governor, and when it became 
rumored, that the governor had told Feodo- 
rovna that he desired her to receive the atten- 
tions of the prince with more eagerness, if she 
desired to stand well with her uncle and 
guardian, people commenced to ask themselves, 
what the secret could be of the influence which 
the old blackguard seemed to exert over Gov- 
ernor Etholin. 

Perhaps due as much to hints, which the 
prince himself found it convenient to throw out, 
as to anything else, it soon was whispered 
around that the old roue had the governor in 


[ 46 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 

his power, and could crush him any time he 
so desired, if he should undertake to thwart 
his aim. When folk asked, how this could be, 
in some mysterious way it leaked out, that both 
the governor and the prince had in their youth 
been members of the ''Society of the North”, 
a secret revolutionary society of the early 
twenties counting among its members a num- 
ber of young officers and students belonging 
to the nobility. 

It was quite generally surmised, when the 
governor of St. Petersburg, the redoubtable 
Miloradovitch, the hero of fifty-two battles, 
was shot and assassinated as he was addressing 
a mob engaged in rioting, during the first days 
of the reign of our blessed departed 'White 
Father’ Nicholas, that he had fallen a victim 
of the bullet of a member of this revolutionary 
society, who had been selected thus to strike 
death and consternation among the immediate 
followers of the Czar. 

This rumor was now revived at Sitka, and 


[ 46 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


it was persistently insisted at the Officers’ Club, 
that the governor had been the designated tool 
of the ‘‘Society of the North”, in the assassina- 
tion of the general ; that his friend the prince 
was aware of the fact, and had threatened to 
reveal this secret to the Third Section, so justly 
feared by all political offenders in our country. 

Be this as it may, the governor, whether 
willingly or not, soon became more exacting 
toward his niece, and demanded of her that 
she accept the prince’s hand in marriage. 
When she absolutely refused to obey him, and 
declared that she would die first, inasmuch as 
she loved another, his conduct toward the 
young midshipman, whom he suspected to be 
her accepted lover, became unbearable. He 
refused him admission to the castle and took 
every occasion to insult him so as to drive him 
to a desperate action, which would have placed 
him absolutely in the governor’s power. 

The young people, who had secretly pledged 
each other their troth, according to the Rus- 


[ 47 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


sian custom, by the princess giving her lover 
a lock of her beautiful hair, and by his pre- 
senting her with a consecrated silver engage- 
ment ring, some bread and salt, and an almond 
cake, now could only meet each other by stealth. 

The Lovers’ Lane was their favorite trysting 
place. Have you seen the Lovers’ Lane close 
to the Indian River, little father? — No? — Well, 
don’t fail to visit it, before you leave Sitka. 
It is one of the most beautiful spots on earth. 

When the governor discovered that the lov- 
ers kept up their secret meetings in spite of 
his ukase, he bethought himself of another 
remedy. 

One bright September morning the sloop 
''Ouropa”, Captain Tebenkoff commanding, 
received secret sailing orders to start that very 
night for a cruise along the west coast of 
Alaska, for the purpose of forcing the natives 
north of the Yukon into submission to the 
Czar. 

Toward nightfall young Gregor ovitch was 


[ 48 ] 


Lover's Lane, near Sitka, Alaska 










THE LADY IN BLUE 


sent aboard the sloop with an important mes- 
sage, and suspecting no foul play, he promptly 
reported to Captain Tebenkoff, who ordered 
him below, and forced him to accompany the 
sloop on its cruise without giving him an oppor- 
tunity to communicate with any of his friends 
ashore. 

When the young midshipman had thus been 
gotten out of the way, the governor undoubt- 
edly thought he would have clear sailing, and 
that Feodorovna would now submit to his 
wishes. 

But he had calculated without taking into 
account her force of character. 

Nothing could move her, and she resolutely 
told her uncle, that she would cheerfully face 
death rather than become the wife of the hated 
prince. 

But some four months after Gregorovitch’s 
disappearance the governor enlisted Father 
V eniaminoff’s services, by confiding to the 
great bishojy that thus only could a grave and 

[ 50 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


imminent danger to himself and his family be 
averted. 

The good father has told me himself, that 
never in his life did it cost him so much to do 
what he saw as his duty; that he quailed before 
the undertaking to persuade the beautiful girl 
to sacrifice her love and happiness in order to 
save the threatened honor of her uncle, whose 
venerable mother, now in heaven, had been 
more than a mother to her, who never had 
known a father or mother of her own. 

It was through the persistent efforts of the 
bishop and especially through his appeal to her 
obligation to the dead foster-mother, that she 
finally relented. From her unwilling heart and 
lips the promise was wrung, that if nothing 
was heard from Gregorovitch in the meantime, 
she would marry the prince on the governor s 
birthday, the coming eighteenth of March. 

The eighteenth of March, 1844, came, and 
no tidings of Gregorovitch, nor, for that mat- 
ter, of the sloop on which he had sailed. The 
t r, 1 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


latter fact had assiduously been kept a secret 
from Princess Olga. The parties interested 
had in vain attempted to persuade her, that 
her lover must have perished in some mysteri- 
ous and unaccountable way. Her heart told 
her, that he still lived. 

It had been rumored among the servants of 
the castle and by them spread abroad, that 
every night, after midnight, Feodorovna, ac- 
companied by her faithful Nataschenska, would 
ascend to the cupola on the roof of the castle, 
and from this elevated point of vantage peer 
out into the night for news of her sailor lover. 

This persistent watching for the lover, who 
came not, never ceased. 

The wedding day had come. 

There were no tears glistening in the beau- 
tiful eyes now. 

Dressed in the pale blue of the Russian bride, 
with the silver crown on the raven locks, she 
stood, pale as a corpse, but with a determined 
look in her black eyes, to do her duty as she 

[ 52 ] 


The Interior of St. Michaels Cathedral at Sitka 









“>'A ' 










..-/V 




, J-'T.. 






>^<r 


Mi- ■* 


3ff 








SiBBCfi 


afi 








THE LADY IN BLUE 


saw it, before the bronze doors in St. Michael’s 
Cathedral, which enclose the holy of holies, 
where, under the laws of our church, no 
woman can ever be permitted to enter. 

When during the wedding ceremony the 
earthen vessel was broken, the symbol of the 
submission of the wife to her husband, even 
to the extent of dying for him, there was a 
faint tremor in her eyelids, and a contemptuous 
smile curled for a moment her lips. 

When the prince tapped her naked shoulder 
with a whip to remind her of the punishment, 
which may become one of the charms of mar- 
ried life, the bishop observed the sudden gleam 
of a terrible fire in the black eyes. 

That was all. 

Otherwise she was to everyone the submis- 
sive bride. 


[ 54 ] 


VI. 


T he bridal banquet was in progress. It 
was near midnight. The bride had not 
touched a morsel of food or a drop of 
wine. She sat erect, but pale and motionless, 
beside the aged bridegroom. 

Suddenly there boomed a cannon through 
the stillness of the night. 

Everybody knew what it meant. A vessel 
was in the offing. In a moment the beacon 
light in the glass cupola on the roof of the 
castle would be lighted. Then the bonfires on 
Signal Island, designed to lead the ships into 
the harbor, would blaze forth, and inside of 
half an hour the vessel would drop anchor 
within the confines of the port. 

There came a sudden flush of color to the 
cheeks of the bride. 

“Was he coming? Now? When it was too 


[ 55 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


late? — Not too late! — Too late to live! — But 
not to die !” 

But no! He was dead, dead, — dead! and 
soon, — soon, — when her uncle’s honor was 
saved, — could she enjoy the privilege of join- 
ing him in the sweet beyond. 

An hour later! The governor was on his 
feet. He had proposed a toast to the happiness 
of the bridal couple. There was a wild huzza. 
Every one rose to their feet. 

“Long live the prince and princess !” 

Just then the door opened a trifle and Nata- 
schenska’s white wrinkled face showed in the 
opening. 

The bride noticed it, made an excuse of 
sudden illness, and flew more than walked to 
the door leading to the corridor. 

Outside the door : 

“He is here?” 

“Yes, child; he is waiting in the hall outside 
your chamber door.” 

It was a matter of a few seconds only. 


[ 56 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


“Olga!’' 

“Victor !” 

Their lips met in a long, passionate kiss. 

“Hush!” 

There was the noise of a step on the landing. 
Her right hand fumbled for the poniard sus- 
pended at his left side. She has unsheathed 
it! The next moment it has penetrated her 
heart, and a warm stream of blood strikes him 
in the face. As she falls dead in his loving 
arms a look of joy comes into his eyes. The 
poniard is in his hand! Now it is buried in 
his own heart ! 

As his life blood gushes forth, he sinks to 
the floor with his precious burden in his arms. 

Separated in life ! United in death ! 

The governor’s hard heart relented. The 
next day they were buried in the same grave. 
But not in the cemetery. You will find a Greek 
cross a little way to the left of the Lovers’ 
Lane, at the place where God’s sunshine trickles 
through the dense leaves. 


[ 67 ] 


THE LADY IN BLUE 


It marks the grave of the suicides who can- 
not find a resting place in consecrated earth. 

Suicide is a grievous sin. Can it ever be 
forgiven? Popular belief among the Russians 
has it that a suicide must do penance for his 
awful sin by haunting for fifty years, in the 
darkness of the night, familiar places, repeat- 
ing what was before death his wont to do. 

Then comes forgiveness and rest for the 
weary bones. Not before. 

The princess whom you saw last night, is 
doing penance. 

Every eighteenth day of the month she is 
peering through the darkness for her lost lover. 

Let us pray for her soul !” 



[58 1 


VIL 


T he last words of the chaplain's manu- 
script had been read, but no one spoke. 
It was as if the spell of the ghost of 
Baranoff Castle had come into the cozy dining 
room and was upon us all. 

After a long silence I remarked : 

'‘How strange ! It was on the eighteenth 
day of March, 1894, just fifty years to a day 
from the wedding — from the death of the beau- 
tiful Russian princess, — that Baranoff Castle 
burned to the ground. No one at Sitka can 
explain how the fire started, but all, who had 
an opportunity to know, agree that it was first 
observed in the glass cupola on the roof.” 
"Strange indeed!” 


[ 59 ] 


THE APOSTLE o/ALASK A 

THE STORY 
of WILLIAM DUNCAN of 
METLAKAHTLA 

BY 

Jno. W. Arctander, LL. D. 


Third Edition. 395 pages. 12mo. 48 illustrations and a map 
of S. E. Alaska. Cloth $1.50, net. Postage 16 cents. 


Fleming H. Revell Company 

New York: 158 Fifth Ave. Chicago: 80 Wabash Ave. 

Toronto: 25 Richmond St. W. London. Edinburgh. 


Awarded First Prize and a magnificent Gold Medal, as “the best 
historical volume on an Alaskan subject,” at the Alaska- Yukon-Pacific 
Exposition in Seattle, 1909. 


WHAT THE PRESS OF TWO CONTINENTS SAYS AROUT IT I 

A^ew York Observer: Another chapter in the “Miracles of 
Christian Missions.” 

Congregationalist, Boston: A picturesque and interesting biog- 
raphy, valuable not only as a study of original and success- 
ful missionary methods among a savage people, but also for 
its presentation of a strong and heroic life. The book is 
full of interest from cover to cover and reads like a 
romance. 

[ 60 ] 


Press Comments on The Apostle of Alaska. — Continued. 


Christian Herald, Pittsburg, Pa.: Few stories can so inspire 
with new hope and courage. The writer has lent grace 
and interest to his subject, by retelling an old story with 
a freshness that cannot fail to awaken deep interest. 

Independent, New York City: A story of a miracle of our 
own times. 

The Telegram, Portland, Ore.: Lives of missionaries are 
seldom thought thrilling enough by the average layman 
for even a passing glance, but this story is worth while. 

Republican, Springfield, Mass.: The Indian habits of life, 
their legends, superstitions and religion make interesting 
reading, but little less than wonderful is “the apostle’s 
power” in moulding their lives. 

Christian Advocate, Nashville, Tenn.: A series of most inter- 
esting narratives. The photographs are excellent. Contains 
about fifteen legends which have never before appeared in 
print. 

The Scotsman, Edinburgh, Scotland: The author manages to 
throw a glamour over his narrative which makes the book 
read more like romance than fact. 

The Free Press, Aberdeen, Scotland: Tells the story of a 
most remarkable man. It is well worth reading. Students 
of folk-lore will be interested in the many Indian legends. 

The Post, Liverpool, England: Dr. Arctander’s “reporting” 
of Duncan’s own stories, conversations and diaries has 
been so excellent that a second edition of the book is now 
published. A deeply interesting sketch. 

[ 01 ] 


Press Comments on The Apostle of Alaska. — Continued. 


Christian Endeavor World, Boston: The story of a noble life 
spent in the service of God. A large amount of informa- 
tion about Indian customs, and a host of legends never 
before published have been brought to light. 

Watchman, Boston: An impressive and graphic picture. 

Churchman, New York City: The book has a quite unique 
interest. 

Missionary World, Boston: The library of missionary biog- 
raphy is distinctly enriched by the addition of this volume. 
Makes an intensely interesting story. 

Western Christian Advocate, Cincinnati: The book is of ex- 
ceeding interest, and gives a vivid picture of Mr. Duncan’s 
life and work. 

Christian Advocate, Pittsburg : This marvelous story is re- 
plete with interest, and reads like a romance. 

Presbyterian, Nashville, Tcnn.: Quite unusual in missionary 
literature is this plain-spoken account of the lifework of 
a remarkable man, in many respects without a parallel. 

Nezv York Times: The story of a phenomenal man and a 
marvelous career. The story of Mr. Duncan’s experiences 
reads like a romance of adventure in forty-two chapters. 

Brooklyn Daily Eagle: A fascinating narrative worthy of 
extended reading. One of the most informing books on 
Alaska and its Indian peoples that has ever been published. 


[ 02 ] 


Press Comments cn The Apostle of Alaska. — Continued. 


Boston Evening Transcript: A record of thrilling experi- 
ences. An inspiring biography and a most entertaining 
story of adventure are combined in this volume and to one 
• who wishes to know the secret charm of the Northwest it 
reveals another side of the many faceted jewel. 

Post, Chicago: An extraordinary story, with abundant ele- 
ments of both heroism and romance. The illustrations in 
the book tell much that could not be put into words. 

Los Angeles Express: An intensely interesting story, replete 
with anecdotes and Indian legends and reads like a 
romance. 

Minneapolis Tribune: A story of absorbing interest. A won- 
derful tale vividly told. No one without exceptional devo- 
tion and literary talents could have drawn the portrait and 
told the great story so lovingly and well. “The Apostle 
of Alaska” is an important document in the world’s his- 
tory, in American history and in human history. 

Nezv York Evening Post: A remarkable story. 


For sale at all first class drugstores and bookshops in S. E. Alaska. 


GUILTY? 

A NOVEL BY 

Jno. W. Arctander, LL. D. 

203 pages. 12mo. Four fine illustrations. 

In silk cloth, postage prepaid, $1.25. 

Cochrane Publishing Co., 

Tribune Building, 

New York City. 

PRESS COMMENTS: 

Detroit News: This is a story of a great murder trial, 
efficiently told by an able lawyer. 

Burlington Hawk eye: It is highly dramatic and there is not 
a dull page in the book. 

Duluth Herald: The story of the crime and of the trial is 
vividly done. 

Minneapolis Journal: It is interesting. 

Galveston News: The book is highly dramatic. 

Minneapolis Tribune: A powerful picture. 

Nashville American: The incidents described read like actual 
narratives — real occurrences. 

Salt Lake Tribune: A realistic representation of a most 
interesting murder trial. 

Seattle Times: The author was the man who sent the chief 
of police of Minneapolis to state prison. 

Lincoln (Neb.) Star: Contains the woman’s charming con- 
fession of her stirring life in full. 

Baltimore American: This is a really great production. 

New York Herald: Mr. Arctander has written books in three 
languages. He was for 25 years one of the best known 
lawyers of the Middle West. 


For sale at all first class drugstores and bookshops in S. E. Alaska. 



APR 4 )91l 


